The Funeral

An unsettling vibration underneath my body, a sudden flash of light, a loud screeching sound and that was it… Nothing melodramatic like looking into the driver’s panicked eyes trying to say “sorry” to him, no nervous screams from the platform, no people running in slow motion who want to be overly brave and rescue the silly girl in the last minute, no film hero who saves her life, marries her and lives with her and the six children happily ever after. Nothing was at it is often portrayed in various films that draw so many people to the cinema. No, just that awful sound, the light of the front lamps, a thump and then … nothingness. Well, at least that was how I died, rather unceremoniously, nothing at all like a film diva…

On lazy days, I had always imagined that deaths had to comprise something spectacular, something dramatic, maybe even something grandiose. And I had always been certain that one day, my death would be somehow extraordinary too. Thanks to reality it wasn’t. Had I been able to see everything, I might have been rather disappointed how the paramedics arrived with a disgusted look on their faces, how they collected every remaining bit of me and how they mumbled something like “the fifth this week” while the police tried to distract the masses from the disturbance in front of them. As much as I thought my person didn’t matter I wanted my death to matter, but it didn’t. I was just another job for those who already knew too many deaths. Even the pathologist would see at first glance what the cause of death was and before calling it a day would scribble “suicide” on the form that was delivered together with my corpse.

Shall I tell you what came after the inevitable, the actual dying? Are you curious? - There was nothing. Maybe it is just an unspoken agreement between those who nearly died to tell everybody of “the light” and floating in the air above one’s own body. I guess one of them started it when coming back to life while being surrounded by too many inquisitive people that had to be impressed. Maybe he was right in not telling them the truth because the idea of nothingness after dying - neither heaven nor hell, nor other things - was too frightening for those who still lived…

And now here I am… As long as I can still call me “I”. Obviously, there’s no body left that I can call mine but I still remember who I used to be: a young girl of 15 years with a round face, green eyes and brown curly hair. But as much as I was content with my outer appearance I detested my inner self that never seemed to meet the standards I set for it. Probably, I could have learned to accept the limitations I always perceived, if others had accepted them. But on that warm spring day, the day I chose to die, my boyfriend had kissed another girl right in front of me and my parents had told me that they were planning to get a divorce. And if that hadn’t been enough I’d lost my best friend whom I knew since kindergarten to another country two months ago. Thus, there was no one I could go to, no one I could tell my problems, no one who would console me and soothe the pain. Consequently, I chose death instead. But as I said before, I associated it with something glamorous, not with the bloody mass I soon became. And somehow - although my subconscious had to know it - it never occurred to me that it meant something altogether permanent. It was absolutely silly, I know that now, but as a young teenage girl you feel those romantic sentiments; and the only thing that mattered to me was to shock those people around me…

Here I am, something or someone trapped in between existence and non-existence, but I am still able to think, to remember, to feel, and to perceive everything. And what I perceive right now makes me regret everything…

A gentle melody that seems to come from a far distance, slowly rustling through the leaves of a nearby tree, accompanied by the angelic voice of a singing woman… If I still had a human form, I’d cry now. I’m attending my own funeral although no one can notice me. There are my parents on opposite sides of the recently dug hole that now contains a bright wooden coffin. My mother has swollen eyes that look almost purple now and she is crying rather hysterically while my father looks stern but sad all the same. I can see so many other people crying for me of whom I always thought that they didn’t care for me.

I had always felt unloved, unwanted, neglected even and now I see so many wreaths around my grave with ribbons that read “beloved daughter”, “dear friend” etc. It makes me want to yell at them: “Here I am, right in front of you, look at me, I am not dead, it was all an idiotic joke!” But as a matter of fact, it wasn’t. It was my own decision, my last one and definitely my worst. Because now I really listen to the song I once mentioned in a game as my favourite funeral song, only that this time it is mingled with too many sobs…

09/01/2013